Twice Tempted by a Rogue (22 page)

“Dinner first,” he said, drawing two chairs up to the table. “Then bath. Once I have you in bed, I’m keeping you there.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that.” Her cheeks pinked as she settled into her chair and raised a glass of wine. “Shall we have a toast?”

He raised his own claret. “To the lovely Mrs. St. Maur, Lady Ashworth. And to a most enjoyable honeymoon.”

She giggled. “Be serious, Rhys.”

“I am perfectly serious.” He waited for her defensive laughter to cease. “As far as society’s concerned, you’re here in this room as my wife. And as far as I’m concerned, this night is the beginning of forever.”

She made a strange sound in her throat as she studied her wine. At length, she put it down. The glass met the table’s surface with a clink.

“Meredith, what is the matter?”

She picked up her knife and fork and began to eat.

“I mean it,” he insisted. “Tell me.”

“I don’t know, it’s just … I’m
not
your wife.”

“You will be.” He jabbed at a hunk of beef, and his fork screeched across the plate. “Listen, Meredith. Life’s made you cautious, I know. And I know I was gone for fourteen years and I’ve only been back for a matter of weeks. Some reluctance is understandable, and I’ve been prepared to wait it out. But surely by now you have to know I’m not just some randy traveler passing through the inn.”

“I do know that.” She chased a pea around her plate.

“Do you? I’ve had the banns read, twice, in front of the whole village. Threats, vandals, rocks to the head—I’ve endured all of these in recent weeks, and none of them have shaken my plans to rebuild Nethermoor, nor my belief that we’re meant to marry. But you still don’t trust me on this.”

“On what? Marriage?” She raised her eyebrows and her voice. “You don’t trust me on the subject either. If you did, you’d offer me a real choice in the matter. I don’t recall ever being
asked
if I’d like to marry you, simply told that it’s inevitable. Instead of a proposal, I get … autocratic commands and prophetic pronouncements. Where’s the trust in that?”

Rhys shook his head. “Eat,” he told her. “The bathwater’s going cool.”

“You’re right. Let’s not argue.” She gave him a self-effacing smile. “We’ll laugh about this in the morning.”

He frowned. Was that what she thought? That everything would change by the morning? Maybe this was the source of her reluctance. She thought that his determination to marry her would disappear once he’d purged the lust from his system.

Well. He’d simply have to prove to her that those fears were groundless. And the way to do so was to make love to her tonight, make it very, very good, and show her none of his intentions had changed the next morning.

Not exactly a chore, that.

He ate quickly, as always. When he looked up from his plate, he found her watching him, circling the rim of her wineglass with a fingertip.

“Are you finished?” he asked, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin.

“Oh, yes.” She rose from her seat.

“Now, can we make the bath just as speedy as the meal?”

“If we bathe together, we can.”

Rhys rather liked that suggestion. Parts of him liked it very well indeed.

He ushered her over to the bathing area, where she spent a good minute cooing over the glazed ceramic tiles and painted washbasin while she removed her hairpins at the vanity.

While her attention was diverted, Rhys took the opportunity to quickly and discreetly undress. No matter how many times she assured him she wasn’t repulsed by his scars, that she found his body—against all reason—attractive, he still felt apprehensive about revealing
all
of himself. She’d seen him shirtless, but full nudity was another thing altogether. Between the lamps and the mirrors and the glittering white tile, there was simply too much light bouncing around, eager to illuminate his every flaw and imperfection.

And his body had a great many flaws and imperfections.

Once bared, he crossed the room silently and moved to stand behind her at the vanity. There was a mirror there, and she didn’t startle. She must have watched him approach. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he pivoted her away from the mirror, not wanting to see his own damaged face staring back at him. She leaned back against him, settling her weight against his bare chest.

Rhys sucked in his breath. He reached his arms around her, and with stiff, clumsy fingers, he yanked at the closures of her traveling jacket.

Sighing, she leaned forward and lowered her arms so he could shake the jacket free. He cast it aside and started on the buttons of her crisp, high-necked chemisette. Her breathing came more quickly now. His fingers worked lower, and lower still, and her breasts rose and fell. As though they were as eager to be displayed as he was to view them.

When he’d eased the last tiny button free, he drew the halves of her chemisette to the sides, baring her creamy neck and chest, her small breasts covered by the frailest layer of muslin and supported by tightly laced stays. The dark valley between her breasts held secrets and suggestions.

“Lovely,” he breathed, moving his hands to the small of her back so he could loosen the knot of her laces. He’d wanted to do this for so long. So many nights he’d lain awake dreaming of it—first on the rocky ground, then on the stony plinth, at last on the wood-planked floor. Every night, he’d tried to ignore the uncomfortable surface beneath his weary bones by filling his mind with thoughts of her. The gentle curves of her body, the exquisite softness of her skin.

And here she stood before him, half bared and fully willing, and he couldn’t work the damn knot. It wasn’t the tightness of the tapes or the limitations of his mangled hands. He was nervous as hell. Unable to make his fingers work, yet impatient to taste her, he bent his head and kissed the side of her throat.

She gasped, letting her head roll to the side.

Taking what she offered, he kissed his way up the elongated slope of her neck. Licking and nibbling at her delicate skin, suckling the tiny pearl of her unadorned earlobe.

“Oh, Rhys,” she sighed, tilting her head back.

The way she moaned for him … it made his blood catch fire.

“Oh my God,” she said, craning her neck a bit more. “Just look at the scrollwork on that ceiling.”

He froze. That was it. She’d just found the cure for his nerves.

“To hell with the damned ceiling,” he growled, tugging angrily at the ends of her laces.

She gave a sharp intake of breath as he momentarily cinched them tight. The knot gave way to him this time, and the stays fell away from her body.

“To the devil with tiles and drapes,” he said, whirling her to face him. He pulled down the neckline of her chemise, ripping it just a little in his effort to expose her breasts.

She swallowed hard, then gasped. Her eyes went wide as she took in the sight of her ruined shift and exposed bosom. Then the sight of him, naked and aroused.

“Close your eyes,” he told her, snaking his hand inside her chemise to palm her breast. He squeezed. “Close your eyes. Stop examining everything. Just feel.”

She obeyed.

He fumbled open the closures of her skirt and pulled it down over her hips. Then he divested her of her petticoats. Garters and stockings too—taking caution and pleasure in rolling the flannel sheaths down her slender, shapely legs.

Then she stood before him in only her chemise, her eyes still closed. He left her for a moment. Tracing a slow circle around the room, he extinguished all but a few candles.

There, much better.

“Rhys?” Her long, dark lashes trembled against her cheeks. “May I open my eyes now? I promise not to speak of tiles or ceilings.”

“Not yet.” With a swift yank, he widened the rent in her chemise until he could draw it over her shoulders and pull it downwards, all the way to the floor.

“That’s two shifts you’ve ruined now,” she joked, curling into herself to hide her nakedness.

“I’ll buy you a dozen more tomorrow, but for tonight …” He gently pulled her arms away from her body. “It’s my turn to admire the most beautiful, exquisitely crafted thing in this suite.”

And he did. He brushed a fall of dark hair away from her breast, pushing it behind her shoulder so it wouldn’t obscure his view. And then he stood back a pace and took a long, unhurried look at her body, from her elegantly turned toes to the arrow-straight part of her dark, shining hair. Tongues of candlelight licked over her pale skin. Her slender arms hung straight at her sides, bracketing the sensuous curves of her breasts and hips. As he watched, the rosy points of her nipples gathered to tight nubs. Between her thighs, a triangle of dark curls and shadow guarded her sex.

He’d never seen a woman so beautiful in his life. And that wasn’t an exaggeration. Rhys simply hadn’t seen all that many unclothed women, and most of those he had seen, he’d purposely tried
not
to examine too closely. Even so, he’d wager that women of Meredith’s loveliness were rare indeed.

Hell, even if they numbered in the thousands—she was the only one for him.

As he stared, his already-stiff cock hardened further. Until it literally pained him to look at her. Fortunately, life had gifted him with a formidable tolerance for pain.

“Rhys, please,” she said, twisting with impatience. “The water will have gone stone-cold.”

He could only hope. A stone-cold bath was what he needed right now, if he was to keep from spilling his seed all over the floor.

“Very well.” Gently, he took her by the hand. “Come, then.”

“I’m opening my eyes.”

“Of course.”

He helped her into the deep copper tub, testing the water first with his hand. It had gone a bit cool, but the tepid temperature felt good, considering the warmth of the evening.

He stood behind her as she eased into the bathing tub.

“Aren’t you joining me?” she asked, quickly sinking up to her neck in the lukewarm water.

“You first,” he said, crouching beside the tub and handing her a sponge. “It’s not big enough for two.”

The corner of her mouth quirked. “It is, if we sit close together. I thought that was the idea. We were going to make this fast.”

Rhys worried it would all be over before it started.

She put a hand to his cheek and pressed a sweet kiss to his lips. “Please. I want to bathe with you.”

A little groan escaped him. How could he refuse? Rising to his feet, he swung one mighty leg over the curved copper lip of the bathtub and plunged it into the cooling water. A wave surged from the spot, splashing water onto the floor.

“Never mind it,” she said.

So he managed to swing his other leg in, with the effect that he straddled her legs, and his rampant arousal bobbed right above her face. It didn’t seem to trouble her any, but just to be safe, he lowered himself into the water without delay, sending another, larger wave of water splashing out.

“Rhys, do you forget I’m a widow? It’s not like I’ve never seen a man unclothed before.” She reached for the soap and sponge, rubbing them together to form a thick, sweet-scented lather. “Although I’d be lying if I didn’t say you’re by far the most pleasing man I’ve ever beheld.”

She ran the sponge down the slope of his shin. He jerked with surprise.

“I’m sorry. Are you ticklish?”

“No,” he replied curtly, as if she’d accused him of something dastardly and weak.

She soaped his leg again, and once again his knee jerked.

She laughed. “I think you
are
ticklish.”

“Perhaps I am,” he admitted.

“Perhaps
you are?” Reclining against the neck rest, she raised the sponge to her own arm and lathered it from shoulder to wrist. “You don’t know?”

“I suppose …” His voice trailed off as she tilted her head and soaped her neck. He stared, entranced, as a rivulet of foam trickled down between her breasts. Beneath the surface of the water, his erection throbbed. “I suppose I never had the occasion to find out.”